Impromptu
by Lady Androgene
Summary: Locker room. Post tennis practice. Delicacy provoked. Basically PWP RyoTezu shmex.


Warnings: Shota and some degree of OOC-ness.

Summary: Locker room. Post tennis practice. Delicacy provoked. Basically PWP RyoTezu smut. 2236 words.

A/N I: This came to existence because I haven't laid eyes on a smutty Pillar Pair fic for eons.

Disclaimer: Not mine, Konomi Takeshi's.

**Impromptu**

By Lady Androgene

Something is seriously wrong with this picture.

It's just after tennis practice and everyone has already showered, bade their goodbyes and left.

You and Echizen Ryoma are the only ones left.

You are standing about two feet away from the row of lockers with him in front of you.

No, not just in front of you, but also down there.

On his knees.

And treating your cock as if it was the most palatable strawberry Popsicle in the Aji Ichiban candy factory.

And aye, there's the rub.

The placement is all wrong. You should be the one leaning against the locker, not the other way around. Because then, his head wouldn't be knocking against the cold metal every time your hips bucked into that hot -_ohgod_- mouth, and you wouldn't be muttering some unintelligible form of apology every time.

He doesn't seem to mind though and pulls you in closer, clutching fistfuls of your shirt, lips, tongue and teeth working their way around you and making your flesh painfully hard.

You are pretty sure that this is something that thirteen-year-olds barely out of puberty shouldn't know how to do. You briefly wonder if you should be disturbed that he has been touched and groped by people other than you, or feel inadequate that he is obviously more experienced with the matter and he's two years your junior. You are aware of the… testosterone-charged habits of his father and wonder if this –apparent oral skill- is hereditary. But then there goes that unbelievable sucking motion that draws a jagged blank in your mind and you automatically start thinking with the other head.

You vaguely recall acting on impulse as you very lightly brushed your lips across his five minutes ago. Or was it three? Two? Never mind. He seemed surprised then, beautiful cat-like eyes widening slightly, as an errant finger reached up to touch his mouth. You yourself didn't know what you were thinking, acting like that, just because he looked painfully seductive putting on his clothes, like a reverse striptease of sorts. You were about to utter an explanation of sorts when a dark shadow settled on those irresistible gold orbs and before you could think or act, the two of you were kissing like the apocalypse would come and swallow you up any minute. A few moments later then, when your mind was sufficiently out of order, your glasses clattered to the floor, and you felt a hand tugging at your pants, fumbling with the zipper. You felt a slight apprehension, but it was quickly squelched. That's fine, you decided, as long as it's _just a hand_ but then you suddenly find yourself kissing air and the next thing you knew was, he dropped down on his knees, and then… _oh_ _god oh god oh god_— here you are.

A sudden draft pulls you back to the present and you look down to see that he has pulled away. The loss of stimuli has every nerve of your being screaming in outrage, and you look down at him to voice it out. But then he peers up at you from under those long eyelashes and your intended protests die in your throat. He looks so fragile, so beautiful like this, with sea green hair perfectly tousled, those cheeks flushed, luminous eyes staring up at you…

He would have passed off as a picture of innocence if not for the fact that he is *sucking* you oh so sinfully dry.

Then one corner of his rosebud mouth lifts, and the fragile image dissipates in a flash, replaced quickly by that of a predator victoriously cornering its prey. He then deliberately teases the hard wet tip of your shaft with torturously slow tongue strokes and it takes all your self-control not to drive yourself into the hot, velvety cavern again.

You want to yell at him. If the two of you are going to indulge in this ludicrousness then you might as well go through the whole lot of it, messy trimmings and whatnot. This temporary reprieve is uncalled for and he knows it. You make a mental note to confirm later on if the boy is hanging around too much with a certain sadistic teammate of yours, given his evident enjoyment in driving you out of your mind, and if so, create a contingency measure so as to stop that unhelpful influence immediately. It will do wonders to your sanity, it will. Because really, you have no idea how long you can hold on before… before…

_Oh yes..._

In one fell swoop, as if forgiving your transparent distress, you are completely surrounded by that miracle-worker of a mouth once more, and you groan in relief.

The logical part of your brain, which now sounds as if it is talking to you from under a huge pile of water beds, tells you that this whole thing is absolute lunacy. Anyone can walk in on you and it would probably look terribly incriminating on your part, with you nigh-on raping his mouth with your sporadic thrusting. And you think, death by sheer humiliation is very much possible if someone like say, Ryuzaki-sensei catches you in such a state.

But then, the pad of his finger puts this warm singular pressure on that no man's land between your prostrate and what used to be the perpetual exit, throwing you in a fit of mind-blowing pleasure. You gasp, your mind switching sides, as everything now feels so so _right._

You desperately search for something, anything, to muffle the most unusual sounds emitting from your throat. You spot a towel from a nearby locker and you, with your hazy, lust-filled mind reach a hand out for it. But then, you feel another hand that is so not yours, loosely playing with your crown jewels and the jolt of fresh ecstasy forces your own hand to drop midway to salvation, and a whole string of unfamiliar, uncivilized words ricochets across your rapidly fleeing mind like wayward bullets.

Another torturous tease of his tongue and you can't fight back the moan ripping from your throat even if you tried. You fail to stop yourself from thrusting once more into that delicious mouth and he swallows.

Then in a flash, your eyes fly open as everything fades away in a white-hot explosion.

A second passes.

Then two.

Then three, and four, and so on.

When you finally gain some semblance of conscious thought, you look down and find him lapping up the remnants of your holy orgasm.

It suddenly occurs to you that this is _the_ tennis prodigy you are grooming to become the next Pillar of Seigaku who had given you the first blowjob of your young life.

And good lord, it was one very fine blowjob. You suddenly find new respect for those classmates who seem to talk about nothing else beyond phallic fixations.

When he's done, he leans back against the lockers, his face pale, and his mouth still laced with your cum. Your first impulse is to give him some tissues to clean up, but then, he seems to be able to figure that out on his own, and wipes his mouth with his used shirt. He stands up shakily, and you automatically help him up. His eyes meet yours and the two of you wait for the other to speak first.

You don't know whether you should be guilty or indignant. Guilty, because you let lust cloud your judgment. Indignation because after all, while you are technically responsible for kissing him first, you didn't ask for _this._

You don't get to ponder on it for long though, because the unthinkable happens.

The locker room bangs open. "Yo Echizen, are you hitching a ride with me?" Momoshiro's loud voice echoes in the room. Now normally, you wouldn't be tempted to jump away and hide because of such an interruption but then normal doesn't count having _your_ young prodigy suck you off seconds beforehand.

The gods must be kind to you for strategically having your back towards the door post-blowjob, because then you won't have to worry about the brash loudmouthed junior getting scandalized and running to the nearest shrink for therapy. You try to fix your bearing but your fingers are shaking as they clutched at the zipper of your still sticky pants. You almost release a sound of frustration when you find it stuck.

"Yeah." Echizen nods and stuffs his things in his tennis bag. "Give me a minute, I'll be right out."

"Okay… hey wait." Momoshiro pauses, and you pray to all concerned deities that Momoshiro would be illiterate just for this moment and fail to put two and two together. "What's that on your upper lip?"

You glance at Echizen and find, to your utmost horror, white, solid evidence of the stupidity you just indulged in.

Echizen doesn't seem to be fazed. "Ah. It's mayonnaise," he supplied, wiping the alleged "substance" off with his forefinger and licking it off. "I was eating a hotdog sandwich earlier."

You fight the urge to cringe. There were just too many things wrong with that excuse.

You hear Momoshiro huff. "You're a messy eater, Echizen."

Echizen just shrugs. "Can't help it, I enjoyed it very much."

That sounded even worse. Your blood vessels are now conspiring against you, feeding more blood to your cheeks.

"And didn't share, you selfish brat."

That sounded the _worst._ Your face feels so hot now it's a miracle none of the nearby lockers have melted yet.

"I don't share, Momo-senpai. But here, I have another one." Echizen then retrieves a brown paper bag (which hopefully contains a _real_ hotdog sandwich) from his locker and proceeds to toss it to Momoshiro.

"Thanks! I'll wait for you outside. Bye Tezuka-buchou." You then hear the distinct sound of Momoshiro chomping on his new snack and feel the slightest bit nauseated.

The door closes with an obliging thud. You suppress a sigh of relief and proceed to grab the towel you couldn't reach earlier to clean up the residue of your impromptu activity, refusing to look at Echizen all the while.

He says nothing and just watches you.

When you find nothing more to clean up, you take a deep breath and finally face him.

Of course, the little brat chooses that moment to pull the tab on a grape Ponta and take a long sip, as if subtly mocking your clearly disadvantageous predicament. The first thing your still-weak mind wants to say is "What do you think you were doing (and when are you doing it again- stop you didn't actually think that)?" Thankfully, you manage to grab a hold of some of your wits and the responsible-Buchou personality kicks in. "Echizen. That was most reckless of you." Good, your voice sounds normal. You hope it will carry on as the conversation unravels.

He puts the can down and glances sideways at you. "You started it."

You ignore this fact and keep your expression stern. "If Momoshiro had walked in a few seconds earlier, we would have been severely disgraced."

"But he didn't. So stop worrying."

This infuriatingly casual attitude strikes a nerve in you, and you resort to harsher grounds. "Echizen, you know that it is well within my right to punish you for your actions."

"Go ahead." He faces you head on, his posture defiant. "But don't expect me to lie if someone like, say, Fuji-senpai or Inui-senpai asks why I'm being punished."

You hate to admit it but he has you cornered with that argument. You don't even want to imagine what kind of sordid things the aforementioned seniors will do with this information. The two of you lock into a staring contest for some time before you finally admit defeat and look away first.

"Fine. Just don't do this again. I don't want to risk anything."

He smirks, satisfied. You make another mental note, this time to devise some unorthodox method of revenge later when you're safely away from him. "Hai hai. I'll be more cautious from now on."

You nod, content to let the conversation end as is, and turn around to fix your things. Then his words suddenly come back to you.

_From now on?_

You quickly stand up, ready to say something to that, but you suddenly find him in front of you, his trademark smirk still on his face, and again, the words are zapped from your vocal chords. He looks at you for a moment, then stands on tiptoe and swipes his tongue across your lips.

"Mada mada da ne, Buchou. Next time, I'll blow you in the showers." Then he zips up the pants you had conveniently forgotten about, pivots on his heel, and saunters out of the room.

Stunned, you can only stare at the door long after he left, eyes wide, your hand still clutching your bag, whilst vaguely tasting a mixture of grape and what must be your own essence on your lips where he had licked it.

A few moments later, after regaining your composure, you pick up your things. Then you check the vicinity for any telltale sign of your unwarranted indulgences before finally leaving the room. As you head out the school gates, however, something stirs in the muddled recesses of your mind.

You can only shake your head in resignation when you find yourself hoping that next time comes mercifully soon.

~fin~

* * *

A/N II (mid typing): This would sound really sick, but I'm writing this in the university's computer lab, after a particularly interesting lesson in _Theology_ class. The hell, its not like my prof can read minds and find out his lessons are being improperly wielded. Yes. And the guy on the compy beside mine is shooting me weird looks. What the fuck man, mind your own porn.

A/N III (post typing and formatting): The characterization in this fic totally killed me. It's OOC, yes, but then, I convinced myself that not even Tezuka, stoic rock-faced macho geek that he is, can keep his calm façade for long when his little um, _pillar_ is blowing him dry, so he can't be _that_ OOC…

Fine he is... Ah well, I tried.


End file.
